


The Rewind

by shuwashuwishuwa



Series: Sniper!AU [2]
Category: Hey! Say! JUMP, Shuuji to Akira
Genre: Gen, I am so sorry, M/M, kame is terrible with emotions, kame stop, yuto's childhood is fucked up but only a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 23:24:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4281951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shuwashuwishuwa/pseuds/shuwashuwishuwa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Childhood. Other people had fairy tales and sunshine. He had guns and ammunition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rewind

**Author's Note:**

> A little of Yuto's backstory, originally posted [here](http://writetomyheart.livejournal.com/237816.html) for the [shiritori comm](http://writetomyheart.livejournal.com/).

"Let's arrange a date."

It's the last thing he hears before there's a slam and the door opens. Yuto's breath stills.

"I thought I told you not to listen in on my phone calls, brat." Kazuya stares at him from the corridor, hand closing his flip phone.

Wide-eyed, Yuto blinks, caught in the act. 

"Well?"

He unfreezes, scrunching his face up cutely. "You were too loud. Who was that, niichan?"

Kazuya's lips form into a thin line. "That was nobody. And stop calling me that, I'm not your brother."

"Tcht," Yuto harrumphs, button-nose red from the cold that's been plaguing him for the last week. He sags against the wall, eyes halfway closed. "Unfair. I can keep secrets, too."

"You're nine years old, what are you talking about. Come on, off to bed with you, it's late." Kazuya hauls the sick kid up on his shoulder like the boy's a sack of rice, carrying him to the pile of tattered blankets he's made into a substitute bed.

As soon as he hits he sack, Yuto sniffles, curling into a fetal position, shying away from the light outside reflected in the glass windows.

Basin of water and towel in hand, Kazuya kneels by the bed and starts to wipe gently at the child's forehead. Yuto's still running a slight fever, and he didn't eat much today. Hopefully the weather tonight will be cold, so they won't have to switch the fan on; he'll get paid on Saturday, but it's only five days away, and he has an additional mouth to feed, clothe and house. _Plus, medicine,_ he chides himself, if the darned fever doesn't go away soon. Suddenly, the whole 'noble act' of picking up a stray from the street to atone for some of his sins that he had half a month ago isn't a very appealing project anymore. Where will he find cash if the boy needs to be confined?

"Nnn, Niichan," Yuto moans in his sleep, eyes squeezed tight like he's in pain.

"I know, I know. Tomorrow, you can go out if you're feeling better." Kazuya tries to get up and return the basin to the sink. Yuto yawns, tugging on his free hand. "Yuto, I won't be a minute."

"Will you tell me a story, Niichan? No guns or blood or gross things this time."

Kazuya smiles at that. "I will in a bit. Now let go."

Yuto complies, settling into a more comfortable position. When Kazuya comes back after cleaning their small shared space and himself up, Yuto's already snoring lightly. He probably fell asleep while waiting for Kazuya because he's on his side, facing the door.

That night, Kazuya uses his softest voice to whisper fairy tales about lands far away, with happy and healthy people and grand parties that neither of them have ever seen or taken part of.

//

Today's practice target is a row of cans, hanging from strings on a clothesline. Of course Kazuya won't let him shoot with real bullets, but at least Yuto gets to use a gun. He's been well for two weeks now, but the trip to the doctor was an experience he never wanted to relive again.

"Why wax, niichan?" Yuto inspects the cylinder closely. It's about as thick as his pinky, an inch and a half long and light in his hands.

Kazuya methodically reloads the rifle. It's a simple, long-nosed weapon, capable of housing five bullets in one loading. This one's got to be his favorite, even though Yuto learned the hard way that the other has a selection of artillery hidden in the nooks and crannies of the their small safe house.

He takes the wax bullets from Yuto, loading them onto a much lighter gun. "Wax bullets don't weigh much, see. Only used for short range target practice, so you don't end up hurting anyone else."

 _Or yourself,_ Kazuya adds in his head, silently wishing that finesse and grace could be taught as well. Yuto was as clumsy as a hyperactive puppy, and he'd never learn even just the basics properly if he can't master subtlety. When Kazuya was his age he could take apart and reassemble a gun in under a minute with a blindfold on, _without_ alerting anybody else. It made for good survival skills, to be honest.

After overcoming the initial threshold of absorbing factual knowledge, Yuto learns quick, as they will both come to know after three hours of lessons everyday, when his arms are about to give up from being in the same position for so long ( _'I said steady!' 'But it's heavy, Niichan!'_ ) and his ears are almost damaged from the noise of gunshots. In order for his small body to be able to take that much stress, Yuto trains and trains _and trains_ until he's shooting with one gun on each hand and not being knocked back by the recoil.

Kazuya doesn't barrage him with 'Shoot, god damn it!' comments now, but he still never lets him out of the house for anything else either. As consolation, Yuto gets to clean all the ammunition they have, provided he knows which floorboards are hollow and what cabinets have a second hidden compartment.

//

They bump into each other in the hallway, Yuto just done with his bath, only wearing his gray sweatpants on, a small towel on his dripping hair.

"Niichan was on the phone? Who?" He looks at the device in Kazuya's hand. Yuto had stopped listening in on phone calls soon after the first few instances, especially when one time, he was so quiet in snooping around that Kazuya almost shot him in the head when he appeared from behind the door.

"Our time's almost up, pack your things," Kazuya answers, face hard as steel. When Yuto looks confused, he adds, "Remember that time you were sick and we had to take you to the hospital?"

"Yes? Niichan's friend owned that hospital, right?" Because Yuto was too young to understand that Kazuya had had no money then, or that they lived off on cash Kazuya earned from killing people. That had been a year and a half ago.

Now that he knows better, there's a tug of war between the guilt of being alive while others die by Kazuya's hands, and the gratitude of being picked up from the streets to be taught how to defend himself and survive. He owes Kazuya his life, no matter how wrong they might have been living.

"His _family_ owned the hospital, but whatever. Good, you remember." Kazuya bundles Yuto up, black shirt and down jacket over a streamlined bulletproof vest, securing a Laramie on the gun holster. "We're going on a little trip to see that niichan, okay?"

"With a revolver? That doesn't sound like a visit to a friend."

"It's not for him, dummy." Kazuya doesn't look at him in the face, busy attaching a pair of throwing knives to Yuto's ankle straps. "Now what do I always tell you?"

Yuto takes a deep breath, shaking off the nerves. "Never provoke an attack unless inevitable. Never shoot unless you're positive you can hit it in one shot. Don't undress in front of strangers. Always be on guard, and _never_ reveal who you are." He's been practicing their little mantra since the day Kazuya took him in, all spikes and barbed wires back then, with only a little concern compared to how meticulous and protective he's acting towards Yuto now.

"You've learned well, for a cheeky brat," Kazuya ruffles his hair, smiling a little. He takes out a backpack and fills it with a week's worth of clothing--all Yuto has, actually. "Here, take this. I'll try to come back for you."

 _You're leaving me?_ , Yuto wants to complain, but he had always been told whiners were uncool, and Kazuya looks really proud of him now. "When we see each other again, I'll be taller than Niichan, I promise."

"I'm not--" Kazuya starts to lecture, but then thinks better of it. If he's going to be honest, it _had_ felt good, having someone to look out for. Which also made it a big liability, like right now. "Put your shoes on, we're late."

//

People walk on to and from their boring homes and boring jobs and boring lives on the streets, not minding them in the least. It's early spring, and the park looks beautiful, all greens and multicolored flowers a sight to behold.

"That's him," Kazuya points to the lone guy sitting on a bench across the big fountain. He's got bleached hair and is engrossed in finishing the book in his hand, wearing a gaudy yellow Hawaiian print shirt, cream cargo pants and flip flops. "Familiar?"

Yuto only nods, something thick stuck in his throat. Sounding like a frog in front of Kazuya would be so weird, so he closes his fist tighter around the jack-knife in his pocket instead.

"Right, here, give this to him," Kazuya exhales, placing a note in Yuto's jacket pocket and then fixing his scarf. "Be nice to him. But don't let your guard down. And no matter what: Don't go looking for me unless the two-week mark has passed."

Yuto forces his mouth to work. "And after?"

"You'll know where to go. I'll leave a message." He reaches out to touch Yuto's small face in his hand, stopping short just centimeters away to place it on his shoulder instead. "Now go."

Little gravel pieces crunch under the weight of his boots as he walks toward the man without sparing a glance in Kazuya's direction. Adrenaline rushes through his body, a strange buzz filling his head and drowning out all the other sounds; he doesn't even hear Kazuya start up his motorbike. If he focuses, he can pinpoint the cold of the _shaken_ between his socks and the lining of his shoes.

The man doesn't even notice Yuto approaching, eyes skimming the pages of the book intently. He has to fight not to run back to the park entrance, because one of the things he was explicitly told not to do was make a scene.

Yuto clears his throat.

Finally, the man looks up, seeing Yuto. His eyes are a beautiful shade of brown, chocolate and much darker than his hair.

"Yes?"

He bows down, careful about the bag slung over his shoulder. "My name is Yuto. My Nii--" he pauses and has to swallow. "Kazuya-san sent me to find you. Yamashita Tomohisa-san, I'll be under your care."


End file.
